


Here with you

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [123]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Birthday, HYDRA Husbands, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: “Fuck birthdays.”
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [123]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Here with you

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday! Birthday! XD

The smoke burns Jack's throat, scratching at it like he's swallowed ground glass, and he stares up through heavy-lidded eyes, watches it escape his mouth in soft whispered clouds. It hangs in the air like a foggy haze, eventually he turns to look at Brock's face where it already floats around like a shroud of white. 

Brock smiles after he inhales, confident and devilishly wicked. He holds out his hand, the joint pinched tightly between his thumb and index finger, and Jack's eyes narrow on where the end of the joint is staining Brock’s thumbnail.

"No." Jack says. “I’m good.”

"Bullshit." Brock shoots back, and the word is as slow as the smoke curling out of his mouth. His lips are still stained red from that cherry slurpee over an hour ago.

Brock puts the joint back up to his lips, his cheeks hollowing. His eyes flutter open and closed, half-hidden by tendrils of smoke, and with a quiet laugh he leans forward and offers the joint to Jack again.

"No, Brock. This was all your idea, which is stupid. Who hides from their own birthday party?"

"Yes." Brock cajoles, his voice gravelly. He pushes himself up slightly off the dusty floor of the run down shack hidden away in the forest just outside his house. He stumbles forward on his hand and knees, the joint held safely over his head and he looks clumsy like a newborn elephant. “Fuck birthdays.”

"I've had enough. My dad’s gonna kill me if he smells the stuff on me." Jack says. He feels heavy, weighted, and the sounds of nature all around them are loud in his ears.

"Not yet enough." Brock insists. "’Sides, it’s m’birthday and I've ‘ad twice as much as ya."

_Nothing new_ , Jack thinks. _ You and Buck. It’s always you..and Buck.  _ But there's no more Bucky anymore, because of Steve, and Clint was too flighty to be on the ready with them. 

Brock leans forward, his hand finding stability at Jack's leg, his fingers closing around a fistful of his pants. He lifts the joint to Jack's mouth, his finger catching on his lower lip. Pulling away from it, Jack feels himself laughing, and falls back onto his elbows.

His head hits the floor with a harsh thud. The wood is rough and dusty under his fingers, and Brock, half on top of him, is heavy. Brock drops his forehead at Jack’s chest like he’s trying to recalibrate the change, the joint too close to Jack’s face, the coil of heat radiating at him. He shakes his head when Brock lifts his head again, but then there’s a mumble of a  _ please _ against his neck. 

Jack doesn’t recall when he got even closer.

The joint is wet at the end and the thin paper sticks to his fingers, his lips. He closes his eyes, inhales, and tastes Brock. Tastes cherries. His mind wanders.

"Thanks, Jackie." Brock mumbles, blinking his eyes a few times.

He steals the joint from Jack's fingers and puts it out on the floor. Jack exhales the plume of smoke he’s been holding, his chest tight and his throat raw, and he tastes Brock again, this time from Brock's mouth.

Jack instinctively falls into the kiss at first, ghosting a hand up Brock's shoulder to his stupid hair. Brock licks at his lips, his tongue hot and slick, and as it pushes inside, stroking against Jack's, it pushes through the numbness blanketing Jack's body.

His brain is foggy, hazy, but he knows enough to pull away. He's not Bucky, and this is not what Brock wants. Not from what he knows.

"Brock."

Brock just kisses him again, harder, and slips a warm hand under his shirt.

"Why?" Jack asks, breathless, his lips brushing against Brock's as he speaks, feels goosebumps prickling every inch of skin Brock uncovers.

"I wanna." Brock says simply, like that’s all there is to it.

His hand skims up his chest, just the fingertips, and Jack shivers. Brock's mouth returns, warm and familiar now, sliding over his jaw, his neck, and Jack struggles against the noise building in his scratchy, smoke-worn throat.

"I thought you- “ Jack swallowed down a grunt. “You and Bucky?" 

Brock pulls back slowly and meets Jack's gaze. His eyes are heavy, sleepy, but they shine against the stream of sunlight peeking through the slats of wood.

"No. Ain’t Buck." Brock assures. He pushes himself up, hesitating a moment over if he can, tugs at Jack's shirt. His fingers catch on the buttons, fumbling them through the holes, one comes undone. "You."

Brock is staring again, and his eyes, still sleepy, still heavy, are also sharply focused, burning into his very soul. Jack still thinks _Bucky_ , but Brock leans close, his breath hot against Jack's chin, his eyelashes brush soft over his cheek.

"You, Rawls.." Brock insists. "Always been you."

Brock kisses him, and Jack lets him, his mouth falling open easily against the slippery onslaught of Brock's tongue. Brock's teeth catch Jack's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and the moan Jack has been trying to swallow escapes, throaty and hoarse.

Jack thinks somewhere, somehow, he'll probably end up hurt by this, end up with his heart crushed in Brock's hands and his feelings pressed under Brock's feet, but he lets the fog in his brain swallow away his worries, lets Brock hide them under the hands on his skin.

Brock shifts fully on top of Jack, heavy and solid, pinning Jack to the floor, their legs a confusing tangle of limbs and he doesn’t register when their pants have been shoved down around each of their thighs. Brock's cock is hard against his hip, hot without the barrier of clothing, and he presses into Jack, growling his name against his neck.

Their hands slide between them, fingers touching and exploring before quickly, ultimately wrapping a hand around slicked, overheated skin. Jack finds Brock's cock first, and a hitched breath later Brock finds his, sliding it into the curve of his palm so perfectly.

Warmth builds and pools inside Jack slowly, curling through his body like the haze of smoke hanging in the air, like it’s something distant and muted that Jack can't quite reach. He arches up against Brock's weight, wanting more, shaky moans stumbling between his lips as he tries to thrust into Brock's grip. 

Brock kisses him as soft, delicate noises tumble into Jack's mouth, and it only takes him a twist of his wrist, stroking up hard. Jack cums, gasping in startled surprise to it, the pleasure sharp through the haze, and Brock follows almost immediately, a rush of heat that spills over Jack's fingers and onto his belly.

_Maybe not Bucky_ , Jack thinks, as Brock's lips leave a wet, lazy trail up his neck. He pauses when he reaches Jack's mouth, coaxing him into a slow, liquid tangle of a kiss, and he smiles as he pulls away. 

Brock moves off eventually, blindly searching for the snuffed out joint to light it up again after he pulls up his pants without a care to the stains. The lighter’s found easily enough and he takes a long, slow hit that makes the tip flare brightly.

"You, not Buck." Brock reiterates, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air.

He smiles, shifting in closer once Jack cleans up the mess on him and gets his own pants up. He leans in for a kiss, smoke trapped behind his mouth after another hit, and Jack immediately meets him halfway to breathe it in.


End file.
